


Stranger Things Have Happened

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Christmas, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Insecure Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, M/M, Pining Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Winteriron Holiday Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push away the intrusive sexual thoughts, which were new, and unexpected, and obviously some sort of mistake. He liked <em>ladies</em>, always had. Not that he hadn’t noticed Tony Stark was an attractive man—Bucky wasn’t blind—or been given the Sexuality in the Modern World speech by Steve. Worrying about Tony’s safety was one thing, sitting on a couch in the common room with a hardon from the thought of kissing Tony? That was something else altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Things Have Happened

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue Rose (Grovehove)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grovehove/gifts).



> This is my gift for <http://emporiumrose.tumblr.com/> for the Winteriron Holiday Exchange~! They like soul marks, so I sort of jumped on that, and went with it. Hope you enjoy the story! :D

Bucky wrapped his scarf a little tighter, and hunkered down, enjoying the way the cold made his skin sting, and his eyes water when the wind kicked up. Some part of him remembered hating the cold, but apparently that had changed. Hell, seemed like everything had changed since he’d first left New York, even the smell of the air. Himself most of all.

“Thought I’d find you out here,” Steve called, as if to give Bucky plenty of notice that he was going to have company. “Everything okay?”

“Sure.”

Steve settled down by his side, long legs kicking out in front of him. Bucky lifted an arm, was pleased when Steve slouched his way, accepting the offer of additional warmth. “We missed you at dinner.”

“Wasn’t feeling hungry.”

His friend didn't have to say anything for Bucky to pick up on the concern radiating off of Steve. “Sure you're okay? That's the third night in a row.”

“The serum they gave me mighta been a knockoff, but according to people smarter than me, I'm as immune to sickness as you are, pal.”

“Right. I know. But, stranger things have happened.”

Steve fidgeted, and Bucky guessed he hadn't heard the last of it, but for the time being he seemed content to let it drop, which was nice. Bucky didn’t have any answers as to why he’d been feeling out of sorts, and the idea of turning himself over for poking and prodding? Not exactly appealing. Besides, compared to the nightmares, and the triggering of buried memories, feeling a bit under the weather was the least of his worries.

It had started earlier in the week, when—despite getting a solid night’s sleep for the first time since coming to the Tower—Bucky had woken up feeling sleep deprived, and headachey, and generally uninterested in the idea of food. It had faded over the course of the day, and he’d thought that had been that, but now it seemed to come and go without any explanation.

“Hey, what was the name of that guy who used to give you a hard time down at the corner store?” Bucky asked, and thankfully that was enough to get Steve going on another topic.

As Steve took them on a trip down memory lane, Bucky closed his eyes and enjoyed the sound of Steve's voice, happy the distraction had worked. He made a little promise to himself that if it kept up, he'd go to Bruce, but otherwise his time was better spent reminiscing over simpler times with Steve.

+

“Daddy’s home,” Tony announced to zero fanfare. The words were delivered with a considerable lack of energy, and punctuated by Tony's bags hitting the ground.

“Don't you mean Mom?” Clint called back.

Tony trudged over to the couch and flopped down, a hand pressed to the side of his head. “Yeah, sure, whatever. What's new around here?”

Bucky watched the exchange, studied the dark circles under Tony's eyes, and the tightness in his jaw. Could feel his own head begin to pound almost in sympathy.

“Not much. Had to declaw some mutated lobster people, which was cool up until Hulk decided they'd make a good bedtime snack.”

“Please tell me that part happened away from any cameras?” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back.

“Yeah, we're good on that front, at least.”

Clint continued with his video game, a haunted expression on his face, while Bucky watched from the spot he'd occupied in a shadowy corner of the room. Tony looked about as good as he'd been feeling as of late, was pale, his breathing a bit hectic, and perspiration standing out on his forehead.

Before he actually bothered to think about what he was doing, Bucky popped in the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and brought it to Tony, catching both of them by surprise.

“When'd you get here?” Tony stammered after a moment, his eyes on Bucky as he took a sip.

“Been here the whole time.”

To his surprise, Tony drained the glass, and sighed contentedly. His eyes were filled with a mix of confusion and gratitude. “Thanks. Uh, guess I needed that.”

“Flying always dehydrates me,” Clint said, following the statement up with a barrage of profanity as some fourteen year old playing in another part of the world trounced his character.

“I'm getting over something,” Tony mumbled. “Felt like shit since leaving.”

“Get me sick and I'm telling Natasha.”

“Don't worry, I'll quarantine myself.”

With a grunt, Tony stood up, and surprisingly gave Bucky a pat on the shoulder on his way to the elevator. Bucky wondered if he even realized he'd done it; he and Tony weren't exactly touchy feely with each other. In fact, mostly they hadn't interacted outside of the workshop, when Tony scanned his arm to make sure HYDRA hadn't loaded it up with tracking devices or explosives or something.

It wasn’t as if Tony didn’t talk to him—he talked to everyone and every _thing_ around him—but more that Bucky spent a great deal of his time glued to Steve, and for whatever reason, Tony tended to hang back when he found them together. Maybe he wanted to give them time to catch up, or thought he’d be interrupting. Bucky wasn’t sure, but from what he’d been able to read between the lines, Steve and Tony had been pretty chummy before he’d made his dramatic reappearance, and now that wasn’t a thing that happened so much.

Bucky wasn’t sure how to feel about the guilt he had surrounding all of that, so mostly he tried not to think on it at all, since he had more important concerns to occupy his time. Like all the rest of his guilt. So, all things considered, there was no reason why he should be standing in the living room, staring at the elevator, debating whether or not he should go after Tony and make sure he was okay. Or why he had his hand curled around the spot Tony had briefly touched.

Steve helped make the decision for him, appearing as the elevator doors reopened. One look at Bucky, and he was wearing his Concerned Steve face. “Everything okay?”

“Tony’s sick or something,” Clint answered, saving Bucky the trouble.

“Lookin’ pretty rough,” Bucky added, relief washing over him when Steve squared his shoulders, and got right back in the elevator. At least someone was going to check on Tony, which was better than nothing, even if it leftBucky feeling kind of squirrelly, and wanting to head into the kitchen to make some chicken soup.

+

It was hot. Not the sort of hot you got on a summer day in New York, but the kind that meant the air practically burned your lungs when you tried to breathe, was so thick it felt like you could get your hands around it, twist it into new and interesting shapes. All around him, the air rippled, distorting his surroundings, so that the shifting sands appeared to form faces he only superficially recognized.

It was all _wrong_. This place did not belong to the Winter Soldier, despite the vividness of the dreamscape, which was indicative of the Soldier’s memories that had played out in Bucky's head as he slept. And so they stood together, inside of their shared body, the black leather burning into their skin, and the muzzle making the air that much harder to breathe, searching their surroundings for some clue as to how and why they had found themselves in such a place.

Off in the distance, something that was not sand moved, shifting and sliding and ultimately falling over, only to rise again. As they watched, the shape resolved itself into that of a man. Without hesitation, they set off to intercept, the Soldier wracking his brain for a name or description of their intended target, while Bucky thought only of finding some way out.

It wasn't until they were almost on top of him that Bucky realized the staggering, pathetic figure was Tony, caked in blood, and grime, something wrapped around his head to help protect him from the elements. With a choked off sob, Tony stumbled almost into his arms, eyes unfocused, unseeing, until he bristled with fear and confusion.

Bucky pushed the goggles up into his hair, tore aside the mask, and was surprised when relief cascaded across Tony’s features.

“Where’s Rhodey?” Tony croaked, looking as if he might lose consciousness altogether.

“I’ve only seen you,” Bucky’s voice didn’t sound any better than Tony’s. It felt as if his mouth was as dry as the desert they were stranded in. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“No party crashers,” Tony giggled, his entire face scrunching up, but it looked a lot like panic was in his eyes. “Don’t you have your own nightmares to keep you busy?”

Before Bucky could formulate an answer, Tony found some reservoir of strength, and used it to push past him, stumbling along, weaving side to side as his feet slipped along the dunes. There was a growing haziness, prompting him to rub his eyes, and when he opened them again Bucky saw only the digital display of his bedside clock glowing in the darkness.

+

“Nice to see you eating again,” Steve said softly as he passed Bucky the mashed potatoes.

Bucky knocked his shoulder against Steve’s, smiling down at his plate before he passed the bowl over to Natasha, and tucked in. Whatever had been causing the intermittent sick feeling had resolved itself, which was great. Now if he could manage to get a night’s sleep without Tony showing up in his dreams, he'd be in good shape.

The night after the desert he'd been in a cave, then at the old Stark mansion, and a bunch of other confusing locations, like free falling through space once or twice. Sometimes, Tony and the rest of the unfamiliar characters in his dreamscape were unable to see him there, and everything played out as if he was watching a movie. Other times, he found himself capable of interacting with his environment. Either way, it was unsettling, but he preferred being able to help if given a chance.

Then, stranger still, his own dreams had seemingly been invaded—more than once now, he’d been back in the chair, struggling with his own awakening sense of self, even as he opened wide, allowed them to place the mouthguard inside. There would come a sense of relief from the Soldier, who needed to be freed of the burden of memory in order to function, and since he and the Soldier were the same, it meant he was the one wishing it would all go away. And so he struggled within himself, not against the process, but against his own shame and guilt and the budding sense of horror over what he had become.

As they activated the machine, the Soldier (and whatever bits of Bucky had awakened) had caught sight of Tony, his expression haunted as he struggled to stop the process somehow, even though he was in the heart of a HYDRA base, with no hope of success, outgunned, and…

None of it made any sense, but it did have the side effect of causing Bucky to be hyper aware of Tony. He was almost positive it wasn't his imagination that the genius had been giving him the stink eye as of late. Almost. But, of course, that could simply be a side effect of all the observing and checking in he'd been doing since that first night.

For whatever reason, no matter how hard he tried, Bucky couldn't seem to shake his invasive Tony Stark thoughts. It wasn't only the dreams. He'd be in the middle of his day, sparring with Steve, for example, and out of nowhere have an overwhelming need to check on Tony. The first time it'd happened, Bucky had managed to resist the urge, but it seemed like each time it occurred, the compulsion was exponentially stronger, making it that much harder to resist.

Eventually, Bucky had broken down and asked JARVIS if Tony was okay, and had been doing so ever since. At first, the AI simply gave him an all clear, but the last time he'd pushed back a bit, as if questioning Bucky’s motives.

“Might I inquire as to why you seem preoccupied with sir’s well being as of late?”

Bucky swallowed, and tried to shake the crawling sense of dread welling up inside his chest. He'd tried to let it slide, but with each passing moment the anxiety only increased, until Bucky couldn't help himself, had broken down and asked. And there he stood, breathing hectically, his heart racing, every instinct he had screaming for him to _go find Tony_.

“Sorry, JARVIS, I know I must be driving you batty.” Bucky absently rubbed his thumb against the inside of his metal wrist, a nervous tic Steve assured him had started back when they were kids. “Got a real bad feeling is all, can't seem to shake it.”

There was a lengthy pause. “Sir is currently in Washington D.C., and appears to be well.”

Bucky exhaled shakily, feeling like his legs were made of rubber. “He got any backup with him?”

“I assure you, Iron Man is quite capable of defending himself if the need were to arise.”

Which was all fine and good, but didn't help Bucky any. The awful feeling had hung around into the next day, so that he spent the night wide awake, and talking himself out of sneaking off to D.C. to see Tony for himself. He wouldn't approach Tony, just get a visual confirmation. And maybe keep an eye on him from a distance, if he could get away with it. Of course, disappearing from the Tower would get him in a world of shit with Steve—or Fury, for that matter—and no way was he trying to explain his strange new fascination with Steve's friend. So he’d stayed put, hard as it was.

At the moment though, everything was aces. Tony was at the dinner table with them, fiddling with his phone while absently shoveling food into his mouth, and occasionally giving Bucky the stink eye. Or not. Again, he wasn't sure, but there were definitely looks being aimed in his direction.

“We doing movie night?” Clint asked around a mouthful of food. “Barnes has never seen _Die Hard,_ and ‘tis the season.”

“Nope, not good, we need to fix that,” Tony declared, and it was stupid how Bucky's heart turned over in his chest at the sound of Tony's voice. Maybe it was because he'd mostly been hearing it in his dreams as of late, or was unused to having Tony’s enthusiasm materialize on his behalf. There really wasn’t any logical reason for it whatsoever.

Bucky tried to ignore his strange new fascination, but it was difficult. Tony had opted to sit in a chair instead of taking the spot Bucky had left open for him on the couch, which was good _and_ bad; it left him within sight but out of reach. Watching the lights and colors from the nearby Christmas tree play across Tony's features was far more entertaining than the movie.

He was so preoccupied that Bucky didn't realize one movie had segued into another, so when he happened to look back at the screen, he was immediately confused. “Wait, what happened to the Germans, and how’d he get to an airport?”

“Maybe you'd know if you weren't busy mooning over Stark,” Clint grumbled from beside him.

Bucky felt his face go hot, and the urge to defend himself was strong, but also sort of pointless. Everyone was kind, and pretended not to hear Clint’s complaint, but somewhere over the last hour or so Bucky had apparently abandoned subtlety altogether, and had more or less been openly staring at Tony.

Feeling embarrassed and confused, Bucky slouched down into the couch cushions, pulled up his hood, folded his arms across his chest, and focused on facing forward. The screen was a blur of motion and color, unimportant compared to the pressing urge to turn his head, and confirm that Tony wasn't angry with him, or upset. It didn't so much matter if people thought he was peculiar, but he'd hate to make Tony uncomfortable in his own home.

Absently, Bucky rubbed a thumb over the inside of his metal wrist, unable to feel much more than pressure in the spot, but it was soothing nonetheless. With a sigh, he pressed a bit harder while wondering how long it would be before Steve took him aside to have a talk about his behavior as of late.

Across the room, Tony shifted in his seat, and Bucky tensed. He could feel the weight of Tony's gaze, could only resist so long, and so when he risked a glance, their eyes locked immediately. Tony wore the expression of a troubled man, but somehow that made him all the more handsome. Bucky wanted to cross the space between them, drag his thumb across Tony’s furrowed brow, smooth away the signs of displeasure. Wanted to follow up with his lips, taste the downturned corner of Tony's pretty mouth.

Tony's eyes went a bit wider, and Bucky looked away quickly, lowering his eyes, shame and confusion washing over him. For the briefest of moments, he could have sworn he felt Tony's mouth against his own, the soft scratch of his beard, the teasing tip of a tongue along his lower lip. All at once, his blood had surged enthusiastically south, the arousal catching him off guard.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push away the intrusive sexual thoughts, which were new, and unexpected, and obviously some sort of mistake. He liked _ladies_ , always had. Not that he hadn’t noticed Tony Stark was an attractive man—Bucky wasn’t blind—or been given the Sexuality in the Modern World speech by Steve. Worrying about Tony’s safety was one thing, sitting on a couch in the common room with a hardon from the thought of kissing Tony? That was something else altogether.

Steve gently nudged him in the ribs with an elbow, his eyes filled with concern when Bucky turned to face him. He gave a shake of the head, forced an awkward smile, then stared at the screen hard enough that his eyes began to burn. All the while, he could _feel_ Tony’s attention was focused on him, even though the man was pretending to be as enthralled with the movie as Bucky was.

+

“Everything looks good,” Bruce said, sharing a soft smile.

Bucky clenched his jaw. “You’re sure?”

“Physically, you appear to be in perfect health,” Bruce assured him.

Which could only mean the problem was in Bucky’s head. A sense of inevitability washed over him; it wasn’t really a surprise that his scrambled brains were the source of the issue, but it was still depressing.

“Thanks, doc.”

Bruce sidestepped to position himself in Bucky’s path. “You’re the only person I know who hates medical exams more than Tony,” Bruce said, and just hearing Tony’s name was enough to make Bucky’s pulse accelerate. “So, I’m guessing there’s a reason you scheduled this visit. Care to give me a hint?”

Bucky shifted from foot to foot, opening and closing his mouth several times before groaning, and folding his arms across his chest. How the hell was he supposed to explain what had been happening without sounding either insane, pathetic, or like some kind of obsessed stalker? At the very least, Bruce would feel the need to give his friend a heads up that a formerly brainwashed assassin couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“Been having some strange dreams,” Bucky managed, lamely. “Strange feelings, too. Or… I guess you could call ‘em compulsions.”

Like that morning, when he had walked into the kitchen to find Tony slouched over the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, and had needed to use every ounce of his self control to keep from pressing himself against Tony’s back, wrapping an arm around his waist, and burying his nose in Tony’s messy hair. It wasn’t just desire at play, which he’d slowly been coming to terms with, but more like a biological imperative to make some sort of physical contact with Tony. His muscles had ached, his heart had been racing, and walking away before Tony noticed him lurking had required such a monumental effort that he’d had no choice but to turn himself over for an exam.

“Compulsions?” Bruce sounded understandably concerned.

Bucky nodded, and opened his mouth to clarify when a wave of pain—sharp and sudden—took his legs out from under him, left him on his hands and knees in front of Bruce, panting, and struggling to breathe. He had a sense of movement around him, could hear an alarm ringing somewhere, but even as the room began to go dark around the edges, and Bruce called his name, Bucky’s only concern was Tony, and his safety.

+

There were voices nearby, and Bucky could sense they were talking about him, but the words all seemed to flow in and out of each other, tangled and lacking coherence. Opening his eyes was difficult, felt like it took hours, his lids closing against his will again and again, and even once he overcame this herculean feat, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

_... still doesn’t make sense … how long has this been … really necessary? … was screaming in Russian … checked out before … what time was … you can see on the x-ray, even though healing has … ever heard of anything like this before?_

“S’happening?” he managed, tongue thick in his mouth.

“Bruce, he’s waking up!”

And that was Steve, which was a relief. If Steve was there, then chances were pretty good HYDRA _wasn’t_. Bucky tried and failed to sit up, panic washing over him when he met resistance.

“Buck? Hey, it’s okay, Bruce had to restrain you so you didn’t hurt yourself,” Steve said, the words still not making much sense. “We’ll get this off as soon as possible. You’re safe, we’re still in the Tower. Can you remember what happened?”

Bucky’s left leg was throbbing, his head pounding. “Where’s Tony?”

He got the sense there was a lot of nonverbal communication going on around him, but Bucky couldn’t get his eyes to focus on anyone long enough to have a hope of picking up on it. Whatever the case, they were taking too long to answer, and so the panic began to wash over him. What if Tony had been hurt? What if he was captured, or _dead_?

All around him, machinery began to beep frantically, an audible representation of the stress his body was exhibiting. “Is he okay? Steve!”

That last bit had been shouted, adrenaline coming along with the anxiety, so that Bucky felt himself surge up off of the bed, the ominous creaking of the restraints making it clear they were the only thing keeping him from running off to find Tony. This prompted a flurry of activity around him, Steve seeking to calm him, while Bruce talked of sedatives, and dangerous heart rates, but none of it mattered, because _no one would tell him if Tony was okay or not_.

“JARVIS,” Bucky cried, not knowing what else to do. He could feel tears streaming down his face, into his hair, even as blackness began to creep in again around the edges.

“Mr. Stark is enroute to the Tower,” JARVIS assured him.

Immediately, the tension began to ebb, Bucky flopping back down onto the bed in relief. That was all he needed, and so he let the darkness take him again.

+

Somewhere, a door slid open, and before it closed again, Bucky heard, “Because coincidences are a thing that happen?”

Wakefulness surged into him at the sound of Tony’s voice, eyes snapping open. Bucky struggled to sit up, but they hadn’t removed the restraints yet, and so mostly he could only raise his head. That was enough, though, allowed him the briefest of glimpses of Tony before Natasha blocked his view.

One of her eyebrows was arched, her head tilted, as if she was studying him. “You seem awful cheery all of a sudden.”

Bucky realized he was smiling, tried to stop, found he couldn’t. A good bit of the awfulness had subsided, leaving him feeling light, and happy, although he was still admittedly desperate to get out of the bed, see Tony with his own eyes.

“He’s okay,” Bucky said, sighing contentedly. “S’all that matters.”

“I didn’t realize you and Tony had become so close,” Natasha said, her eyes narrowing.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Bucky looked away. If only that were the reality of the thing. It would be so much simpler if he and Tony had become friends, or had had an opportunity to get to know each other properly. No, instead, he had to go and develop some sort of fixation on the guy for no reason whatsoever. Trying to hide it was pointless, considering he’d been strapped to a bed while raving about Tony’s safety.

To make matters worse, while he was still riding high on relief and proximity, it still wasn’t enough. The physical distance between them was _painful_ , the compulsion building up inside of him yet again, leaving him feeling as if his skin was burning, his bones being ground into dust.

“Not,” he managed to say, his mouth trembling. “We’re not. We’re _really_ not. I don’t know what’s happening.” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “Everything _hurts_.”

Natasha went to stroke his forehead, to push his sweat soaked hair back from his brow, but her touch was agony, and prompted Bucky to whimper in distress. “If I could see Tony,” he whispered, pleading with his eyes, “maybe that’d be enough?”

The machinery was beeping again, the doors sliding open as if in response, Bruce rushing in with a scowl firmly in place on his face. Behind him, Tony was seemingly in the midst of a heated argument with Steve.

“Tony!”

The man in question tensed up, and something that felt suspiciously like a wave comprised of guilt and denial and _rejection_ washed over Bucky, leaving him feeling cold, and hollowed out. Tony’s posture was rigid, tense, but then there was movement. Only, Tony wasn’t coming to his rescue, he was _leaving_ , and it felt very much like someone had reached into Bucky’s chest and ripped out his heart.

All of the fight washed out of him in an instant, and so Bucky let go, let himself fall back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief.

+

Bucky had no idea how much time had passed. Steve had come and gone and come again, as had others. Blood had been drawn, scans had been run, tests performed, results analyzed. They’d tried to talk to him, find out when everything had started, JARVIS ultimately answering on his behalf while Bucky continued to stare at nothing in particular, unable to bring himself to speak.

It felt very much like breathing was no longer an automatic function of his body, because it seemed to take conscious effort, and each and every breathe was a struggle. There wasn’t a point to bothering. No point to _anything_ anymore. Bucky would have happily traded that awful, emotional wasteland for the plethora of feelings he’d once experienced, even the negative ones. Anything would be better than the numb _nothingness_ that had taken hold of him.

“How’s he doing?” Natasha asked, walking into the room.

“Same.” Steve sighed, squeezed his hand. Even though it was the flesh and blood one, all Bucky could sense was pressure. There was no comfort to be found in Steve’s touch. “Or worse. I can’t tell anymore.”

Bucky blinked. Reminded himself to inhale. Exhale. If this was going to be the rest of his life, he’d be better off—

Suddenly, the room seemed brighter, colors washing back in, so that Natasha’s hair almost glowed. Warmth rushed back into his body, sensation returning along with it, so that he could _feel again_ when squeezing Steve’s hand.

The doors slid open, and Tony’s voice cut through everything. “This is still total bullshit,” he snapped, as if finishing a conversation from earlier, “so I want it on the record that my participation does not in any way—”

“Tony!” Bucky cried, because Tony was on crutches. “What happened? Are you okay?” Bucky struggled with the restraints, anger and concern battling for domination. “Who hurt you?”

Tony halted halfway into the room, his eyes wide, looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights. Bucky didn’t miss the way Clint and Natasha shifted to stand in front of the room’s only exit, their intentions clear; no one was letting Tony walk away this time.

“No one hurt me,” Tony answered after a moment, his voice full of a surprising amount of concern. “Not that it should matter, anyway, since I’m not the one strapped to a bed, Barnes.”

Steve stood up, his mouth opening, and Bucky could already sense this was going to turn into another argument. “Sit down, Stevie.” Tony’s eyes shifted to the side for a moment before lowering. Bucky imagined he could _feel_ what Tony was feeling, fear and hope battling it out for dominance. “You’re okay, though?”

Tony didn’t answer the question, but he did continue into the room, which was good enough for Bucky. The closer Tony came, the better he felt, so by the time Tony made it to the side of his bed, Bucky was smiling up at him.

“So. Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tony asked. He sounded concerned, and curious, and there was no mistaking the guilt washing off of him in waves.

“Dunno,” Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Been feeling… strange for a while now. Nothing… nothing like this, though.” Unable to help himself, Bucky strained his fingers, wanting, _needing_ to make contact. “S’ better now you’re here. Colors even came back.”

Tony’s eyes widened at that, even as Bruce said, “I don’t like it any better than you do, but it’s the only thing that makes any sense at this point.”

The machines began beeping more frantically in time with the pounding of Bucky’s heart. “What? _What_ makes sense?”

“Bruce has this crazy idea.” With a resigned little sigh, Tony squared his shoulders, and set aside his crutches. “Let’s prove him wrong, okay? But, ah, to do that… I have to kiss you.”

If they’d been noisy before, the machines went haywire at this, leaving Bucky’s excitement over the suggestion fairly evident to the room. To his relief, Bruce made an adjustment, and the room fell silent, save for his own ragged breathing.

Tony looked as embarrassed as he felt, as Bucky finally answered with a soft, “Okay.”

“Right. This isn’t weird at all,” Tony muttered. “Can we, ah, lose the restraints, maybe?”

Bucky beamed at him, as if Tony was his savior, sighing contentedly when Tony’s fingertips brushed against the metal of his arm, even though he couldn’t feel it properly. Steve and Bruce helped, then hovered, as if they might have to jump in at any moment to snap the metal restraints back in place.

As far as settings for a first kiss went, it left a lot to be desired. Everyone was staring at him, and he felt grimy with dried sweat, all of him shaking with nerves and fatigue. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered except the feeling of Tony’s fingers sliding along his jawline, strong hands cradling Bucky’s face, holding him steady, repositioning him so the angle would be less awkward.

“Here goes nothing.”

And then the world exploded around him, or so it seemed to Bucky. It was so far beyond what Bucky had been prepared for from a kiss, he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive. It was like the completion of an electrical circuit, warmth and vibrancy and love and everything good in the universe seemingly flaring to life within his chest, pushing through him as if he was a conduit for it all. Bucky whimpered, and the tears were back, but they were happy ones, because Tony wasn’t going anywhere this time. No, Tony was holding onto him, _kissing_ him, as if their lives depended upon it, which might have been the case. At least for Bucky.

Bucky pulled him in close, hands sliding down along Tony’s strong back, tugging his shirt up enough for Bucky to work a hand beneath the fabric. The skin at the small of Tony’s back was warm, and smooth, soft, almost, as he stroked back and forth, reveling in the contact. It was perfect, and somehow still nowhere near enough. Writhing together naked would be better, skin sliding hotly against skin, nothing separating them any longer.

He could see it in his mind, the two of them in each other’s arms, but then the scene shifted, so that he was on his back, and Tony was _inside_ of him, was stroking and touching him everywhere as they moved as one, performing the oldest dance in the world, and yeah, Bucky _wanted_ that, he wanted all of it, and more, wanted everything and anything Tony was willing to share with him.

Tony made a soft, hungry noise against Bucky’s mouth, and a flood of sensations or thoughts, or something else entirely— _shock, disbelief, doubt, fear, relief, panic, acceptance, desire, adoration, perfection, friendship, family, belonging,_ _love, love, love_ —that weren’t his own flowed into him, leaving Bucky gasping, and pushing back against the strangeness. Not to _fight_ it, never that. To take hold of it, to let this thing take root within his heart, fill him and remake him.

And it did. It rearranged everything he had thought he’d known about himself, showed him in an instant that he had only ever been part of a whole. Bucky marveled over this new sensation, wondering how he’d ever believed otherwise, because now, now that everything was in its right place, he felt… he felt…

“Tony?” Bucky whimpered.

Warmth, and love. _Acceptance_. A sense of being claimed, at last, of… _oh_ , of Tony, of a wonderful new lifeline in his head, and heart, maybe right down in his DNA. Whatever it was didn’t matter as much as the fact that it was a bridge, or a conduit, something tethering him to Tony, allowing him to communicate in an entirely new way. It was overwhelming, until it suddenly wasn’t, familiarity and a sense of rightness winning out over the panic that came with discovering a brand new vulnerability. When Tony reached for him along this new pathway, Bucky wasted no time, surged forward, as if throwing himself into Tony’s open arms.

“I’ve got you now,” Tony whispered, and while the kiss had ended, the rest had remained, so that even as he cried in relief, and allowed himself to be rocked in Tony’s arms, some other, more fragile and lovely part of Tony was being held safe within Bucky’s own chest. Nurtured, reassured, accepted.

Carefully, Tony disentangled himself, his expression so happily wrecked that Bucky almost missed the fact that Tony was actually _glowing_ , a bright, warm light spilling out from beneath the watch he was wearing, the face of which was nestled against the inside of his wrist.

“What is that?” Bucky demanded, tugging the watch aside. The glow was already fading, leaving behind only a strange mark, as if Tony had been tattooed. “I’ve seen that before.”

Bucky could feel guilt and shame washing off of Tony, so he pushed acceptance at the ugly tangle of emotions, even as he waited for an explanation. Steve cleared his throat, and when Bucky managed to tear his eyes away from Tony’s face, he found his friend was all wide eyes, a bit of pink in his cheeks.

“You used to have one just like it,” Steve said softly, and Bucky rubbed a thumb over the inside of his wrist, trying to remember a time when he’d still had his own arm. “They’re called soul marks.”

Unable to help himself, Bucky reached for Tony so he could get a better look at the mark before the urge to press his lips to the marked skin won out. A shiver ran through Tony at the touch, and Bucky felt it mirrored within his own body. “So, what, we’re soul mates or something?”

“Or something,” Tony answered, smiling sheepishly. “According to scientific consensus, the idea of soulbonded pairs is horseshit. Lots of legends, and lore, but no hard facts. It’s been years since anyone has even claimed to be one half of a soulbonded pair, let alone a matched set.”

Through their new bond, Bucky felt Tony present him with everything being left unsaid, like how poorly Howard Stark had reacted when Tony’s mark manifested on his first birthday, treating him like a personal affront to science and logic for something he had no control over. Howard was adamant Tony keep the mark hidden at all times, using makeup, or clothing, or whatever was necessary so Howard could pretend his son wasn’t some freak.

Bucky could feel how much it had hurt, being rejected, having to lie, and hide, yet all the while Tony had been desperate to believe the stories were true. The idea that there was some other person in the world capable of truly loving and accepting him—even all the parts of himself that he hated—was frequently the only thing that kept Tony going through his youth.

But year, after year, after _year_ passed, and no matter how hard he searched, how much he hoped, or dreamed, nothing happened. No one appeared. And so Tony slowly lost hope, tried to accept that, of course, he’d somehow managed to find a way to fuck up destiny itself.

When the symptoms of having come into contact with his mate had begun to manifest, Tony had convinced himself he was imagining it all, because soulmates were already next to impossible to believe. Add in the fact that Bucky had been born over _fifty years_ before him, and the entire idea was downright laughable. Accepting it would mean that some all knowing mystical soulbond force somehow knew that Bucky would become the Winter Soldier, and be put on ice until he and Tony could meet and form their bond. Even if he hadn’t already lost all hope in the stories containing even a nugget of truth, there was no way Tony would have been able to buy all of that.

Bucky’s dreams made so much more sense knowing he’d actually entered Tony’s dreams, slipping in through the bond their souls were attempting to form with each other. Tony hadn’t been overwhelmed with a need to protect Bucky, but he’d has his own share of strangeness happening, like picking up stray thoughts or feelings. It had left him feeling a bit crazy, which Bucky could absolutely sympathize with.

In fact, he’d been in the middle of working when the bond flared up, flooding him with Bucky’s panic over his clean bill of health, and in turn Tony had managed to go and break his leg. The suddenness of it had prompted a sympathetic response from Bucky, his own bone fracturing in the same spot. It was a pretty big indication that Tony wasn’t imagining things, that the moment he’d waited for his entire life had finally come, and...

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, using the words this time. “I panicked. I shouldn’t have tried to fight this. I didn’t… if I had _known,_ James.”

Bucky kissed him quiet, and flooded Tony with love. It didn’t matter, none of it, now that they’d finally sealed their bond. The anxiety was gone, would be unnecessary from here on out. Bucky was pretty sure Tony could be on the other side of the planet, and he’d still be able to feel him through their connection.

“Not going anywhere,” Tony promised, stroking Bucky’s hair back from his face. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I like the sound of that,” Bucky assured him, taking Tony’s hand in his. “So, what happens next?”

Tony shrugged, then jumped in surprise when Bruce cleared his throat. “Once you’re, ah, settled in, I’d love to run some tests. Documenting the measurable effects of a soulbonded couple would be groundbreaking.”

Bucky could feel Tony’s own curiosity bubbling beneath the surface, and chuckled, sending back a wave of decidedly different sort of curiosity, the sort that required a great deal of privacy. Maybe a couple day's worth, actually, and a really big bed.

“Can do, Bruce,” Tony agreed, face flushed. He’d picked up Bucky’s intentions loud and clear. “I’m not sure I want to let anyone else in on the big secret quite yet, though.”

Whatever shame Tony had once experienced over his status was long gone. Bucky could feel how honored Tony felt being part of a bonded pair. He could also sense the desire for privacy, for the two of them to have time to adjust before inviting the world to gape at them.

“A hot meal, a shower, and bed sounds pretty good right about now,” Bucky said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Tony’s shoulder.

“I think that can be arranged.” Tony pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, and began climbing out of the bed.

Steve came around to help, probably would have carried them both to the elevator if they’d have let him get away with it. Instead, Bucky and Tony leaned on each other, moving in easy synchronicity.

“Congratulations,” Steve said with a smile as they hobbled through the doors.

“Thanks, boss.”

Tony’s smile was bright, and Bucky could feel all the love his other half had for Steve, reveled in it, mixed it in with his own. Tony made a soft sound of contentment. “So, this is pretty amazing, huh?”

“That’s a word for it,” Bucky agreed, doing some smiling of his own.

“Pretty sure my leg is already healing up. Guess it pays to have a supersoldier as your soulmate, huh?”

The elevator doors slid closed, and Tony pulled Bucky closer, kissed him again, poured love, and adoration, and contentment through their bond. Bucky couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of that, or taking it for granted. If he was being honest, it might have been the first time he’d ever actually felt really and truly alive, like a whole, complete person.

“And the best part is, we get to share it with each other,” Tony whispered.

Bucky tucked an arm around Tony’s waist, and helped him into the suite, feeling the monumental nature of what had transpired as they stepped across the threshold. There wasn’t fear, though, only joy, and excitement for all the hours and days and years they had to look forward to together.

“Allow me to take the opportunity to extend my own congratulations on your union,” JARVIS said as he raised the lights, switching the color spectrum of the bulbs around the penthouse to give everything festive red, gold, and green hues, “and to wish you both a very happy holiday.”

Tony grinned, and Bucky marveled over having access to the love and decidedly parental pride Tony was feeling over JARVIS’s words. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Yeah, thanks, J. Wait, it’s Christmas already?” Bucky blurted once the second half of the sentence caught up with him. He’d been in the infirmary longer than he’d estimated, figured it was only Christmas Eve. JARVIS splashed the time across a nearby wall, showing him it was 12:03 in the morning, thus officially making it Christmas. “Huh. Will ya lookit that. Hey, this’ll be our first holiday _together_!”

Tony cleared his throat. “I feel like now is a good time to mention that with all the weird happenings, and time wasted running away from my destiny, I might have possibly forgotten to get you a Christmas gift.”

“Right, instead you up and ditched all your trust issues, and fears, and gave me full access to your _soul_ ,” Bucky pointed out. “Nothing gift-like about that at all.”

“Considering I get you in exchange, it’s a pretty sweet deal,” Tony pointed out, his smile shifting to shy and adoring when he felt Bucky push aside the sudden, unnecessary wave of insecurity. Sighing contentedly, Tony pulled him in close, and rubbed their noses together. “Wanna pretend we’re standing under mistletoe?”

“I like the way you think.”

Bucky cupped Tony’s face in his hands, and kissed him tenderly, happiness washing over each of them. And even though neither of them needed to say it to know how very true the words were, Bucky and Tony held each other close, and whispered, “I love you,” in unison.

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to read the other stories, bask in the amazing art, and give a shout out to Potrix for having organized the exchange!!


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